


Sine Missione

by Chaifootsteps



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Bondage, Brief silliness., Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Everyone's on board and having a good time., M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, They don't use them but there are safe words involved., Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaifootsteps/pseuds/Chaifootsteps
Summary: SkekMal and SkekVar fight for their emperor's favor. Everyone wins.For SkekMal on tumblr.
Relationships: skekMal/skekVar (Dark Crystal), skekMal/skekVar/skekSo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	Sine Missione

**Author's Note:**

> Very special thanks to SkekMal, who initially preferred to keep this private, but was gracious enough to allow it to be shared.

SkekVar is anxious. And he can't quite wrap his talons around why.

Ordinarily, being summoned privately to the Emperor's chambers would be a cause for celebration of the highest caliber. Stepping in to find him lounging on the bed, without a stitch of clothing, even more so.

“Ahh, General. So good to see you.”

“Emperor.”

So why the hair stands high and cold on the back of his neck even here, even now, he can't entirely say.

“I have several thoughts on your most recent trip to the Sifan Coast. If you'd be so kind as to quell my curiosity.”

Ever respectful, ever dependable, skekVar stands on ceremony, presuming nothing while answering question after obligatory question, trying not to gaze too hungrily at the incomparable sight that is his Emperor's frame, no less stunning for all its trine. Waiting, hopeful, for the moment when skekSo will issue the orders he's waiting for – dreading the possibility that there may be some sort of punishment element to all this, and he'll get nothing. Dreading it more and more the longer skekSo speaks to him in nothing but light and formal tones, until...

“Excellent! That's all I needed to know. I thank you for your time, General.”

“Of course, my Emperor,” answers skekVar, who would sooner die than ask for what hasn't been offered.

“You are dismissed.”

SkekVar bows his head, stealing a last, longing look at the body he would storm a nest of Peeper Beetles just to taste. Quietly, he turns to leave, resigned to a night with his own hand.

“Oh, and skekVar?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Look sharp.”

SkekVar turns just in time to avoid being flattened in a killing pin.

His palms lock around skekMal's blade. The coverings offer his hands some protection, but not so much that he doesn't feel the edge, razor keen. SkekMal's eyes set deep in their skull casing dance, and skekVar tries to make sense of the world.

_“Emperor!”_

“What's the matter, skekVar? Surely a strong warrior like yourself can hold your own.”

SkekMal presses his advantage, growling low and jagged as the edge of a bone. SkekVar swears he feels the trickle of blood down his wrist, but out of the corner of his eye, sees only sweat.

“Sire, please--”

“Enough talk. Prove yourself.”

SkekVar has nothing for it but to draw his blade.

Around and around they clash, stilted in the limited space, too experienced to waste effort on idle hissing and posturing. He's big and he can take a hit, and in much younger trine, could have kept this up for hours. But skekMal is fast, and perhaps most importantly, retains the use of all four arms as well as a free and unrestricted tail. It's all skekVar can do to keep up with them, and just when he thinks he's succeeded in cornering the Hunter such that his hands won't be as free to fly, that tail swipes his feet from beneath him, his blade skitters out of vision, and that's that.

He hits his back hard, secondary arms crushed uncomfortably and the breath knocked from his lungs, and that's all it takes for skekMal to fall upon him with a foot at his throat. He works fast, blindingly fast – skekVar is reminded of how spiders fall upon prey with silk already drawn – binding skekVar's arms with strips of thick, hard leather to the leg of skekSo's wardrobe. If skekVar decides to bring it down on top of them both, which is a consideration, only one of them is going to be in any position to move away. His hind legs thrash all the while, talons attempting to flip skekMal off of him or score a gap in his armor, but if they find any, skekMal is unmoved, and seizes and binds one ankle, then the other, fighting skekVar's struggles every inch of the way. The General's robes slip upwards, exposing him, and as he's spread apart, understands with an eerie clarity exactly what's about to happen to him.

The panic races around him in circles, never breaching the surface, like an animal beneath the ice. He hopes, irrationally, that skekMal might leave his tail unattended, all the while knowing the Hunter is no fool; his tail, even more than his last means of covering himself, is as powerful a weapon as skekMal's, and in short order the thick, muscular appendage is pulled off to the side.

It's horrifying how fast it's all over. It's never over, he thinks with a note of franticness, but the fact remains that he's been trussed, laid out, every advantage at his disposal neatly plucked from his grasp like a childling with a nasty sharp thing. And skekSo observes it all.

“Well, General,” skekMal proclaims cooly. “There we are.”

And indeed. There they are.

“Indeed,” skekVar says, all constructed calm. “You've made your point. There's no need for this to end in--”

“Isn't there, though? We fought. I was victorious. I would say I'm fully entitled to claim my prize.”

His talons grip skekVar's thigh hard, scoring dents in his flesh with the tips. He lifts the ends of his robes higher around his waist, settling them appreciatively. His talons venture between skekVar's thighs, exploring his vent, spreading it casually open for what seems to be pure viewing pleasure. SkekVar thrashes on reflex, searching for any give in the restraints, any at all, and his reward for his trouble is skekMal patting his thigh.

“You're dry as a bone, General. Let's see if we can't fix that.”

He descends. SkekVar has enough time to look at their Emperor, seeking help that would have come long ago if it were ever going to. He finds skekSo reclining, watching them unemotionally.

SkekMal's tongue finds his vent.

He does not give the Hunter the satisfaction of crying out. Instead he reaches inward, into the reserve of careful detachment he draws from whenever he's in great pain. His body is his greatest asset, but not his only asset, and he commands it, not the other way around – so yes, he can take himself outside of this, away from the heat and the pressure and the soft, soft, wet caress against his most intimate regions. For as long as it takes. He can. He _can_, easily.

But skekMal is patient. Moreover, he's patience coupled with skill, and his is a victory that comes in halting starts; in the small chipping away of skekVar's silver linings. In his heart beating just that slightest bit faster, his breath coming quicker in spite of his efforts to slow it. When he rolls his tongue upwards in just the right place, in the tip of skekVar's tail twitching.

And slowly, slowly, in his upper slit opening like a flower, twin erections hardening by increments until they stand undeniable against his broad belly.

“You succumb beautifully, General.”

“I've granted you nothing,” skekVar says to the ceiling. “You can prick my skin all you like. It doesn't mean I've offered you my blood.”

“That would be true, if I were asking you to offer yourself up freely. But that's not what I want from you.” Unwilling to grant skekVar a single moment of reprieve while his tongue is occupied elsewhere, he rubs at the sensitive area between slits, in a nonchalant and yet precise way that forces skekVar to gulp hard. “If you could see what I see. Your slit blushing, the trembling in your thighs. You're very wet, General.”

SkekVar shudders.

“Would it be so bad? To present yourself to me? I can be very generous. I doubt you would regret it.”

SkekVar actually considers it. Thra preserve him, for just a hair's width of a moment, he does. SkekMal has violated him already and will violate him even more before they're through...would it be more honorable to offer up his body, rather than have it wrenched from him?

_He'll untie you. Just lean back, and move your tail. Let him breed you so well, you forget to be ashamed._

With a roar, skekVar raises himself up as far as he can afford, fangs bared.

“Fiend! Coward! _I am a warrior!”_

SkekMal shrugs.

“As you wish.”

He unties some straps, pushes others to the side, and skekVar doesn't know if that makes the whole thing worse, the fact that they're fully clothed. His last freedom rests in the ability to look away from the sight of skekMal's erections hardening, shapely and curving and somehow, there's just never been another word for it, _prettier_ than those of the other Skeksis. And yet he doesn't.

He braces himself as skekMal kneels between his legs, expecting the Hunter to fall on top of him and take him hard and fast. But no...more gentle stroking of his vent, drawing up his wetness and dragging it around near the top, where he's weak and sensitive. It's somehow worse than the violation, to be treated the way a newlywedded Gelfling treats another.

“There, you see? The way your body prepares itself for me? A Landstrider might chase a cow for hours before she stands still. But when the time is right, she always stands still.”

“Then untie me and court me like a proper Landstrider would!”

SkekMal actually pauses, turning away to adjust his mask for what seems a very long time.

“Any brute could take you against your will. I'm going to make you _like it.”_

_“Eat skreesh.”_

“So sorry, not one of my preferences. But I've heard things about the Slave-Master.”

(And now it's skekVar who turns his head away in abject disgust, and not at all stifled laughter.)

SkekMal's tips resting against his opening drags him kicking and screaming to the reality that this,_ this_ is his last opportunity to get away, and his fight or flight reflex kicks in with a vengeance. He thrashes, arches, bucks and hurls his weight against his restraints with such a force that the wardrobe actually walks a fraction across the floor. He thrashes until his muscles burn in protest and his chest heaves, until he's spent all he has, and only then, at his lowest point, does skekMal press inside. And skekVar has no fight left in him, save that which it takes to groan in misery.

It's painless, so wet and well prepared is his vent, and the reminder of his own readiness is yet another torture. He closes his eyes, tries to distance himself from the sensation of being filled, and the wet slap of his vent being bred.

“Excellent._ Good_ prey. So soft down here. So obliging.”

SkekVar wishes he would get on with it. Wishes that _he wishes_ he would get on with it. How very easy this would be if skekMal brutalized him dry and left him bleeding. Instead...

“Hn...”

Flickers, like embers, or tongues. Little licks of warm, lapping pleasure every time skekMal thrusts. As though his body can't for the life of it fathom what's wrong with this situation.

“Have you been hoarding it away, General? Hoarding it all for your beloved Emperor?”

SkekVar grits his fangs against a reply.

“I'm sure he can't get enough of it. Are you his good toy, when he slips inside you and licks you from the inside out?”

_No. Battlefields, sparring. Sunshine. The smell of armor polish. This won't be forever._

“Does he do it...like this?”

SkekMal licks him from the inside out.

It's not like the Emperor does it, but it's so good he can think of nothing else, and at long last, he moans.

_“There_ you go. There we are... Just let me have a taste of it, the Emperor's soft, willing little servant.”

SkekMal leans forward, carrying himself deeper, and gently holding skekVar's beak closed so as to avoid a bite, whispers.

“Let him see how much of a needy thing you can be.”

SkekVar, in a last ditch effort for sanity, rolls his eyes to where the Emperor lies quiet, taking it all in, and still...still, save for the hand working away at his own vent. The sight grips skekVar's cocks like an unseen hand. If there was ever a case for giving in to madness, there it is before him now.

_No._

_Stop this._

The others may think him a stupid brute, but strength alone hasn't led him to survive all these trine.

“Please,” he attempts. “Just...unbind my legs. Or even just my tail. So I can wrap them around you.”

“No,” replies skekMal, pace unceasing and perfect. “Clever, but no.”

SkekVar, foiled, attempts to get off a bite. SkekMal draws back just in time, and skekVar is left with nothing to turn to but the blackness of his own eyelids and the inescapable reality of how pleasureable the Hunter is inside him.

“You're getting close, General. I can smell the quickening of your blood.”

He doesn't point out when skekVar's erections begin to drip, shameful, undeniable. SkekVar supposes he doesn't need to.

In a way, it's a relief, skekVar manages as his thoughts become increasingly mired in the exquisite heat and tension that's rising. The quicker this ends, the quicker skekMal gets off him and vanishes into the night. He doesn't want it enough to assist it or aid its progress, to give in to the urge to rock his ample hips against the Hunter, but a change in perspective, yes. A small victory. Something his pride can recover from yet...

He doesn't even hiss in protest when skekMal speeds up, or when his rough palm starts to work his erections.

Yes....

_Yes!_

SkekVar's beak opens, drawing a sharp breath, so ready for it, let it come, oh yes, _let it come--_

And skekMal grips him around the base of both. Tightly.

The General roars in frustration.

_“What is the **matter** with you?!”_

SkekMal actually laughs outright. It's not a nice sound. “What's the matter with _me?_ I thought this was what you wanted!

“You mock me!” skekVar snarls, grinding into the Hunter's thrusts in the wild hopes that it will be enough. It isn't.

“I give you nothing but mercy. If the proud, proud General of the Skeksis doesn't wish to spill by my hand, then I won't force the issue.” SkekVar hisses and snorts and growls, knowing exactly where this is going, wanting nothing more than to get his teeth into the Hunter's awful throat, yet there he remains, still tied like an impudent pet, still hauntingly close, and it isn't fair...

“You won't...you can't last--”

“All night. Easily.”

SkekVar screams at himself to resist. To_ look at himself._ He's survived agonizing pain, lay in cold, stagnant water until dawn, watched the infection burned out of wounds cut by jagged edges of Gruenak weapons. He will not succumb just because some _forest dweller_ is mounting him and it feels a little good.

He will not give in to, will not even entertain the thought that it might be gratifying to give in to someone so strong and capable, who's bested him so thoroughly, and taken him like prey hard caught, or a prize hard won.

Not while the Emperor...the Emperor looks on...

“For Thra's sake,” he chokes. “Have sanity...”

SkekMal withdraws, but only to find a better angle with more purchase. SkekVar hisses, but it sounds like a sob.

“Come now,” skekMal urges in a voice deep as the Sifan trench, and somehow, warmer than honey. “Let yourself have it...”

SkekVar's claws scrabble at stone, at his own bindings, at nothing, searching for a final path to freedom where none exists.

_“Please...”_

“That's it...”

_“...Please, Hunter. Let me...release...”_

SkekMal grabs his neck in a mating bite, and slams him deep as he can, hand giving up its hold on his erections in favor of flying over them. And as skekVar tilts back his head to allow this, succumbing to the glorious, sublime, all-consuming bliss of submission and orgasm merged so close as to be indistinguishable, he screams, screams, like a bred and bleating animal. Like a captured one.

Like prey.

...He lays still, changed, even as the vacuum of ecstasy abates, and through cracked eyelids, fixates on the beads of cum that roll down the curve of his belly like rain on a windowpane. The straps come away, and he simply closes his eyes and rests against the cool stone, breath heaving like a bellows. How did he ever believe he was anything but a prize to be made to submit, filled time and time again? Why would he want to be?

It feels..._wonderful._

“SkekVar,” someone says. The very same voice as the warrior who bested and claimed him, but surely not the _same_... “I'm here, skekVar. Let me know what you need.”

SkekVar licks his beak with a slow, slow smile.

“Oh, my friend...if we were anyone else, I'd say we were getting too old for this.”

“Oh? But as is...?”

“Another age or two of it. Please.”

SkekMal chuckles.

“Well, General,” says the Emperor from across the room, and skekVar is gifted with the sound of something rare and light and playful in his voice. “I'd say you've proven yourself a thousand times over.”

“It was my honor, Emperor,” skekVar answers, loose and inhibited to the point where he can't stop his tail from giving a happy little thump. “Although I can assure you, it was no reflection of my true combat abilities--”

“Yes, yes, General. I remember the terms very well. Come now, bring yourselves over here.”

He staggers up as quickly as he can, aided by skekMal's proffered claw and with skekMal's cum trickling down his thigh and tail in a way he has no interest in stoppering. The Hunter is already undressing and his own robes and armor have become the most uncomfortable things in all of Thra, and so he discards them where he stands, casting them off like a skin. SkekSo's bed is large and welcoming and more importantly, contains a very naked, very contented Emperor skekSo, ejaculate already dabbed from his stomach.

“You might have waited for us,” skekMal complains fondly and skekVar feels the very faintest pang of jealousy. SkekSo rests on his chest, skekMal blanketing them both with his person, but he can't in any lifetime imagine speaking to the Emperor so freely. “We could have finished you off.”

“That...was the original plan, yes.”

SkekVar's heart warms and warms, jealousy falling away – he holds them both, and in this moment, no creature on Thra ever held so much --and he hopes he can be forgiven for the way he buries his beak against his Emperor's neck.

“You were..._astonishing_, sire. The both of you were. Thank you for your audience.”

“_Mm_...pass up the chance to watch my two finest warriors engage in that salacious tussling ritual you all do? Never.”

SkekMal, lovely face now unmasked, gives skekVar's shoulder an affectionate nip, old and familiar. “You ought to see how it plays out when the _General_ is the victor.”

“...I do. I truly, truly think I do.”

SkekVar has never concurred so heartily


End file.
